


The Night Before

by dierdele



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, NSFW, UCL, pre-Champions League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 00:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19051738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dierdele/pseuds/dierdele
Summary: Eric can't sleep and neither can Dele. They need a way of taking their mind off of tomorrow's game - the biggest game of their careers.Dele has an idea.





	The Night Before

Madrid is hot. Too hot.

Eric lies on his bed in the darkness, the thin white sheet that he’s supposed to drape over him discarded in a heap on the floor. The windows are both open but the air is still and stifling.

“I can’t sleep,” Dele whines from the adjacent bed. Eric hears him dramatically tossing and turning and can’t help but roll his eyes.

“You have to stay still, Del.”

“I can’t  _ sleep, _ ” Dele says again. He sighs loudly and stills for a minute.

Eric stares up at the ceiling through the darkness. It’s now almost midnight and tomorrow they will play the biggest game of their lives. They  _ really  _ need to sleep.

“Just close your eyes,” Eric mumbles quietly. Dele groans in response and hits his palm down on the bed again.

“My eyes are already closed. It’s not helping.”

“Stop getting so agitated.”

“Pretty difficult, Diet, considering we’ve got the hardest game we’ll ever play tomorrow and it means more than any game ever-”

“Del,” Eric interrupts firmly. He turns his head to look at Dele across the hotel room that they’ve been assigned to. Dele is only a couple of meters away, on his own single bed, but it’s dark enough that Eric can only make out his silhouette. “Stop getting worked up,” Eric finishes. He keeps his tone calm and measured.

Dele quietens for a moment and Eric can tell that he’s getting even more moody and agitated. He feels it too. The frustration of not being able to sleep when you  _ know  _ sleep can mean the difference between losing and winning the most important game of your career.

Eric closes his eyes again and steadies his breathing.  _ Think about something else,  _ he tells himself.  _ Think about anything other than football.  _ But he doesn’t have much else in his life. Friends, family, football, dogs. He starts with friends.  _ The ones who are going to Madrid.  _ No.  _ The ones who aren’t.  _ Also, no, because they’ll be watching from home.  _ The ones already here.  _ Eric thinks about Dele for a moment, about his annoying nutmegs and his big, happy grin and his tendency to jump on Eric’s back whenever he can’t be bothered to walk anymore. He lets Dele fill his mind for a few minutes, just for the sake of having something else to think about.

“Found something,” Dele says, and Eric notes that his tone is a little strained.

“What are you doing?” Eric asks. He opens his eyes to find Dele on his phone again - even though Eric definitely made a rule about no phones after 11pm.

“I’m reading ways to calm your mind before bed.”

“We said no phones-”

“One of the ways is sex,” Dele laughs, interrupting Eric before he can finish his sentence.

Eric sighs and chews his bottom lip idly. “Well we’re not going to do that, are we?”

“Why not?” Dele asks light-heartedly. Eric would throw a pillow at him if he had a spare one.

“Shut up. What else does it say?”

“Erm,” Dele scrolls on his phone for a few seconds. Eric watches his expression against the light of his phone screen. “Chamomile tea, which is gross so no. Hot shower, which we’ve already done. It says to picture yourself asleep, which definitely doesn’t fucking work. Work out, we’ve already done. Diet we can’t do any of these.”

“Put your phone away then,” Eric replies with a shrug. He figures it was worth looking up but Dele is right, none of those things really apply to them. Eric doesn’t like chamomile tea either, he’s already showered, already worked out, and already tried to picture himself asleep.  _ Haven’t tried having sex, though,  _ his brain adds. Eric pushes the thought away because it’s far too late and far too weird to even think about. Besides, he doesn’t have a girlfriend or anyone here he could have sex with.

“I’d be up for sex,” Dele says quietly, as if talking to himself more than Eric. He puts his phone back under his pillow as Eric looks at him again, frowning.

“Shut up, Del.”

“What?” Dele asks, amused. He turns onto his side so that he’s facing Eric through the darkness. “You wouldn’t?”

“Who would we have sex with?” Eric asks incredulously. It’s stupid, Dele’s being stupid. And it’s 12:13am and he  _ really  _ needs to sleep. What he doesn’t need is to be thinking about getting off.

“We could like…” Dele’s sentence tapers off and Eric is incredibly grateful for it. He doesn’t want to know what lies at the end of that train of thought. He keeps quiet and ignores Dele’s awkward little sighs.

“We could…” Dele begins again. Eric ignores him still. He’s not even offering a suggestion, anyway. Just thinking out loud.  _ He’ll fall asleep, soon,  _ Eric tells himself. No point answering him and keeping him awake any longer.

“I could suck you off?” Dele says, finally. His delivery isn't cocky enough, isn’t confident enough for Eric to really take it as a joke. But he knows it is, knows it  _ must  _ be.

“Sure,” Eric says back. His heart is hammering in his chest but he doesn’t know why because it’s literally just a joke and Dele isn’t going to suck him off and they’ll be asleep soon so this is all fine.

“You would let me?” Dele asks. His voice breaks a little. Eric can’t even turn to look at him.

“Sure, if it gets me off to sleep.” Eric smiles in the darkness because this is all a joke and doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah?” Dele laughs. He immediately falls quiet and so does Eric. They don’t say anything at all for maybe twenty or thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime to Eric.

And then Dele is tossing and turning again, or so Eric thinks he is, but then he realises Dele is actually getting out of bed and walking over to him. That’s when Eric’s breath catches in his throat.

“Del-”

“Move up,” Dele says. He’s standing next to Eric’s bed now and Eric doesn’t know what to do. There are too many chaotic thoughts trying to take up room in his brain. He’s wondering if Dele is about to suck him off, he’s wondering if that’s something they’re even allowed to do, he’s wondering if it will keep them awake too long, and then he’s mentally scolding himself for even considering it in the first place.

“Del-”

“Just move up you fat lard,” Dele sighs. He doesn’t give Eric any more time to contemplate because he’s pushing Eric across the small, single bed and he’s squeezing on next to him. Eric shuffles over as much as he can but his bare shoulder still presses against Dele’s.

At this distance, Eric can now make out Dele’s features and his expression. He can make out the nervous smile on Dele’s lips. He can make out the slow, blinking eyelashes. He can make out the sharp point of Dele’s cheekbones and the tongue that darts out to lick his lips absentmindedly.

“What are you-”

“Will you stop talking?” Dele says. His breathing is hitched and he can’t meet Eric’s gaze.

“Del-”

Dele cuts him off for the final time, but it’s not with words or an instruction or an insult. It’s with a kiss. Eric has no idea what’s happening until Dele’s mouth is pressed over his, warm and hesitant. Eric doesn't kiss him back because he has no idea if he’s supposed to, doesn’t know if this is part of the joke. He freezes and stares at Dele with wide, confused eyes. Dele swallows thickly and moves away, already shaking his head. 

“Sorry,  _ fuck,  _ sorry.”

“Dele?” Eric says softly. Dele hums in response. He’s trying to move away, to get out of the bed. He’s still shaking his head in embarrassment. Eric grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “Dele.”

Dele relaxes in Eric’s grasp. He lets Eric pull him back, lets Eric coax their mouths back together. This time, Eric kisses him back. Because this time he knows it’s part of the joke. It doesn't feel funny whatsoever, and Eric isn’t laughing, but he reasons that this is all okay because it’s just a joke. Like the sex comment, and the suggestion that Dele could suck Eric off. That was a joke too. Just like this.

Dele’s tongue swipes across Eric’s bottom lip and Eric isn’t so sure that this is a joke anymore. He lets Dele inside his mouth and tightens his grasp on Dele’s wrist.  _ What is happening?  _ Eric can barely form a logical thought. Dele’s licking into his mouth eagerly, and he’s trying to climb on top of Eric. He’s moaning, maybe Eric’s name? Eric isn’t so sure. His head is ringing far too loudly to be able to process anything other than how warm and inviting Dele’s mouth is.

He briefly imagines that same warm and inviting mouth around his dick, and he has to physically hold himself back from pulling Dele on top of him. 

Dele pulls away from the kiss enough to exhale a shaky breath against Eric’s lips. “It might help to erm… to take our minds off stuff, for a bit, you know?” Dele offers.

Eric’s nodding before he can even really process the question.  _ Take their minds off stuff.  _ Eric’s mind is complete and utter mush right now so whatever is happening, whatever this is, it’s clearly working.

“Yeah,” Eric says, he nods again. He doesn't know how long he’s been nodding for. He feels stupid so he stops. “Yeah, ok, good.”

“Good?”

“Good,” Eric confirms.

Dele nods and licks his lips. Eric shakes his head, but only because he’s thinking  _ don’t do that.  _ Only because he’s thinking  _ that turns me on so much.  _ Only because he’s thinking of that mouth around his cock.

“What?” Dele asks, concern evident in his voice. Eric smiles to ease his worries and kisses his mouth.

“You.”

“What about me?”

Dele kisses him again.

“This is stupid,” Eric says. He kisses him.

“The website said-”

“Yeah, the website said suck off your best mate,” Eric laughs. He holds Dele’s jaw in his hand and pulls him back to his mouth. “Stop not kissing me.”

“What?” Dele laughs. He bites Eric’s bottom lip gently and the pressure shoots down Eric’s body and straight to his dick, which is already painfully hard anyway.

“Stop  _ not  _ kissing me.”

“Is that an order?” Dele asks. He obeys before Eric even answers him. His mouth kisses Eric’s more times that Eric can count. He wonders if he’s already asleep and dreaming, or if he’s drunk, or on acid or something. This feels way too good to be real.

“Yes, it’s an order.”

“Any others?” Dele asks playfully. Eric sends him a warning look and inhales slowly.

“Suck me off.”  

Dele doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes or sigh dramatically. He doesn’t tell Eric to fuck off, or to do it himself, or to stop being weird. He doesn’t do any of those things because maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a joke anymore.

Instead, he looks at Eric through the darkness with hooded eyes and his mouth slightly parted. Eric nods again, and Dele leans in for one more kiss before he crawls down the bed towards Eric’s hips.

The moment Dele peels Eric’s boxers away, he knows this is happening. Dele is actually going to suck his dick and Eric is probably going to come in a matter of minutes and this is all actually happening. It’s making his head swim.

_ Dele.  _ He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks it. It’s the only word his brain can muster over and over again when Dele hesitantly takes Eric in his hand and familiarize himself with the one part of Eric’s body that Dele doesn’t already know.

He strokes Eric’s dick for a while, slow and careful. Eric has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself quiet, to keep Jan and Toby next door from hearing something that they shouldn’t.

As Dele explores his new territory, Eric digs his fingers into the bed sheets and does his best not to spill his come right there and then into Dele’s warm, gentle hands.

It’s not even that it’s a good hand job - it  _ is,  _ but Dele is still agonisingly slow and he’s sometimes squeezing too hard or not hard enough - it’s because it’s  _ Dele  _ that Eric is actually losing his mind. It’s his best mate, his teammate. It’s fucking  _ Dele. He’s  _ fucking Dele. Near enough. Fucking his hand, at least.

And that’s exactly what he does to encourage Dele to speed up a bit. He bucks his hips a few times until Dele takes the hint and finds a new rhythm, one that Eric physically cannot stop himself from squirming under.

He’s about to tell Dele how fucking good that feels, how his hand is better than any other he’s ever had around his cock. He’s about to call him a good boy, tell him this is working, that he’s thinking of absolutely nothing else right now except for how good this feels.

He’s about to tell Dele all of this when suddenly his mind shuts down completely. He feels a warm, hot mouth on the tip of his dick, and then it’s sinking lower, and it’s so fucking warm and wet and Eric thinks he might have actually just blacked out for a moment.

“Fuck.”

It’s the only word that Eric can push out of his throat as Dele takes him deeper in his own. He’s been sucked off before, but never like this. Never by someone who has no clue what they’re doing and therefore seems to be doing an even better job at it.

Dele licks every inch of him and spits onto his hand so he can continue stroking the base of his dick. He tongues around the tip, moans around it, and generally just tries out everything that Eric is assuming he learned from porn. The thought briefly crosses his mind.  _ How many times have you watched videos of guys giving blowjobs? _

“Is this okay?” Dele asks with his mouth full. Eric is filled with a strange sort of rage. He looks down and sees Dele looking back up at him with Eric’s dick in his mouth, his tongue flat and wet against the head, soaking up the precome that Eric has been leaking into his mouth for the past thirty seconds.  _ And you have the cheek to ask if this is okay?  _ He thinks.  _ You’re looking up at me with a face that beautiful, with my cock in your mouth, and you’re asking me all innocently if this is okay? _

Eric fucks into his mouth a little. Dele moans in response.

“Fuck, Del.” Eric groans against the back of his hand. He bucks his hips again and Dele goes deeper, until Eric is sure he can feel the back of Dele’s throat.  _ How is any of this real?  _ Eric thinks.  _ It can’t be. _

Dele picks up the rhythm again. Sinking his mouth only half way and then bringing it back to the top in quick succession. It’s fast enough that Eric can feel the pleasure coiling in his lower stomach and he knows he isn’t going to last that much longer.

He suddenly has the mental image of coming of Dele’s face. It makes his toes curl and his knees ache. Dele’s pretty face, splattered with Eric’s come. There’s nothing in the entire world he wants more right now than to see that image.

Eric is getting up before he even realises what is happening.

“Lay down,” he instructs. Dele doesn’t know what is happening either, but he does as he’s told. He lays on his back on the bed, so that his head is at the edge. Eric walks around the bed and Dele immediately tips his head back and opens his mouth. “Fuck,” Eric says again. He only just manages to stop himself from calling Dele a slut.

How they got here, Eric has no clue. Something to do with a website and chamomile tea. He doesn't really care.

His hand finds his dick and he stares down at Dele. Dele looks back up at him, realising what is about to happen. He opens his mouth wider and sticks his tongue out.

"You're such a slut, Del," Eric chokes out. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

Dele nods, mouth still open and waiting.

_ Fuck fuck fuck. _

As he stands over Dele, wanking himself off into Dele's open mouth, the only thought that goes through his mind is that Dele's mouth was made for this. His body was made for football but his mouth? His mouth was made for this.

"Del-"

Eric's knees go weak. He feels the pleasure unpooling, travelling through his stomach. He can't take his eyes off of Dele's mouth.

" _ Del _ \- fuck-"

Eric's entire body shakes as he spills his come into Dele's mouth. It lands on his tongue and his lips and a little on his cheek. Eric can hardly believe what he's seeing.

"Del… I… fuck. Are you okay?" Eric looks down at him and feels guilt bubbling away in his chest.

Dele's tongue darts out and licks his lips. He swipes the come into his mouth before swallowing it down.

"Tastes better than chamomile," Dele says happily. 

"Take your boxers off," Eric instructs. He doesn't even have it in him to acknowledge Dele's comment.

"What are you doing?" Dele asks, but he's already digging his fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

"Returning the favour." 


End file.
